


scratch

by glowingheart



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Age Difference, Blow Jobs, Daddy Issues, Dysfunctional Relationships, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24603667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowingheart/pseuds/glowingheart
Summary: Jack's on anti-depressants and Kent has an itch he needs to scratch.
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson/Bob Zimmermann, Kent "Parse" Parson/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	scratch

Jack shouldn't be beautiful right now.

He's scowling for one, making a face that would make Alicia warn about frown lines.

Kent's own mom would have probably joked about his face getting stuck that way.

He tried not to fixate on the difference.

They were different. Reason #28 they couldn't be together.

"We had that, if you had looked at me instead of whatever the fuck you were doing, we would've fucking won," Jack yelled.

Kent had mostly tuned out the yelling, mostly because he'd been doing it for so long. He chewed out the team, ranted on the drive home and even now, in the sanctuary of his bedroom where they could be fully themselves, he was yelling.

So no, he shouldn't look beautiful.

Kent remembered being a kid sometimes and wondering why his mom stayed with his dad, a man whose anger was felt in every room and every pillar of the house. He remembered wondering what she saw in him, maybe he had been quick to judge.

Jack was yelling, but he was beautiful.

His eyes were intense, focused on Kent as if he was trying to expel him with a look.

Kent's eyes kept moving to the strand of hair that had fallen in front of Jack's eyes. He wanted to push it back, make a Mean Girls reference, laugh into him and he wanted to kiss him, warm and intense, their physical impulses taking over the lecture. It would be a little rough, sure, but it would be Jack and Jack Zimmermann, angry or not, was goddamn beautiful.

"Are you even listening?" Jack's voice cut through Kent's thoughts.

Kent didn't need to respond to hear Jack scoff.

"You look really hot when you're angry, can't blame a guy for zoning out," Kent said. He was going for suave but his voice came out nervous.

Jack looked exasperated but his gaze shifted to the floor, clearly nervous about the sudden shift in the conversation.

"I was making points. Actual points. We should've won today, it was our game," Jack said.

Kent almost laughed at his attempt to maintain seriousness. He could see the blush rising on Jack's cheeks. Kent had him.

"I'll make sure we win tomorrow. Have my eyes on you the entire time," Kent went for earnest but it sounded like flirty instead of serious.

"Have your eyes on the puck, you dumbass," Jack said, giving into a smile.

Kent leaned forward, grabbed his jaw and said, "Will you kiss me already?"

And then he did.

Kent let himself get lost in the warmth of Jack's hands on him, one tangled in his hair, the other on the small of his back. Each time Jack's mouth met his, Kent felt himself letting go, his only focus was Jack, and it was a good focus to have.

They wound up on the bed, Jack laying down and Kent on top of Jack, kissing and taking only quick breaks to breathe.

Kent was sure he'd never get used to this.

Jack was bigger than him, he'd always been a little taller but this year he'd started bulking up and yet, when Jack was under him, he seemed smaller than Kent somehow, more vulnerable, a little less cocky, a little more unsure.

He let out a low moan and Kent smirked.

He went to kiss Jack's jaw and his neck, but Jack was wearing an unfortunate polo that got in the way.

God, he hated polos.

Kent leaned back to help get the shirt off Zimms.

"Uhh," Jack said.

Kent's face must have been a ball of confusion so Jack continued.

"I'm really wiped. I should crash," Jack said.

Kent was taken aback, "What?"

"I want to, but I don't have the energy."

Jack was still angry, of course he was, nothing was ever easy with Zimmermann, they couldn't kiss and make up like any other couple. He supposed it was because they weren't any other couple.

Kent had played a game too, he knew exactly how tired Jack exactly was. And he knew exactly what it took to change his mood.

"Lay back," Kent said, "I'll do all the goddamn work, make it up to you for the game."

He was prepared for Jack to nod, to unzip his jeans, to let Kent pull down his pants, grab his dick and suck it till Jack forgot the game and only focused on pleasure. Kent wanted that.

"I, uh-sorry, I love you but," Jack said, avoiding eye contact.

Kent got the message. Kent rolled over to the other side of Jack's queen sized bed and sighed.

"Feel free to stay over, I can drop off you in the morning after practice," Jack said and Kent thought he sounded sad, if not a little apologetic.

Kent stayed silent for a minute, letting his heart rate stabilize.

He was staring up at the ceiling when he asked,"Do you want me to stay?"

Jack stared at Kent as he replied, "Of course, Kenny."

...

Kent stayed.

He watched Jack strip into his underwear and put on pajamas.

He tried hard but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't turned on at that point.

It was the pills.

His antidepressants impacted his libido and he wasn't really in the mood anymore.

Jack had said it like a confession.

Kent hummed in response, held his tongue of what he really wanted to say.

He wanted to point out that there seemed to be no problem earlier, when before the game Camilla had been flirting with him. Her hand had comfortably found it's way on Jack and Jack didn't even have enough courtesy to brush it off.

He had been laughing.

At something she said.

That motherfucker.

The pills were good. The pills meant that everyone got to meet cool Jack, the easy going, confident, hetrosexual hockey player that made his dad proud. Cool jack could keep friends and go to parties and flirt with girls and still pose for cameras and charm scouts.

The pills were good.

Kent got the scowls and the yelling and the fights and... this.

Lying down next to another person and yet feeling so alone.

He had reached out and tried to at least cuddle, but Jack felt hot and he moved further away.

Kent felt like it was somehow his punishment for losing the game.

It was one game.

The worst part was that Jack was still beautiful and Kent still craved the feeling of lips on his own.

He kept missing, kept reminiscing and Kent could feel himself get worked up but he didn't want to stop.

The thing he wanted wasn't going to happen tonight.

He could take care of it himself but that would be so weird. Jerking off in Jack's bed while he slept next to him, was objectively weird.

He needed to stop thinking about Jack, needed to stop feeling so hot and heavy and turned on and go the fuck to sleep.

He checked the time on his phone and sighed.

It was nearing one am.

Kent decided to get some water before bed.

The Zimmermann house seemed bigger in the dark. The hallways were one of the first things Kent had noticed about the place. They were wide and filled with framed photos on the walls. Jack was in almost all of them, and last Christmas, they had all taken photos together, so he was in a few too.

Kent smiled thinking about it.

He followed the hallway to the staircase, and tried to quietly make his way down. His footsteps were heavy on the dark wood though and he cringed, hoping he didn't wake anyone up.

Kent got to the kitchen and found it occupied.

"You here for a midnight snack?" Bad Bob's voice was deep and he looked at Kent as if he'd caught him doing something illict. He stood at the sink, a glass of whiskey in hand.

He had, Kent supposed. There's no way Jack told him he was staying over.

"I, uh-, water," it came out as mumble.

Kent wasn't sure whether he should apologize. He wanted to. But he had stayed over before, plently of times.

Kent opened the fridge instead of making eye contact with Jack's dad. He grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and was glad Alicia kept them prepared for her runs and Jack's practices.

It would be weird, he thought, having Jack's dad watch him get a glass of water and then put ice in it because he couldn't stand room temprature water.

Kent can feel Bad Bob's gaze on him.

It must be strange for him to, having someone new in the house.

He was staying over most days.

He had been expecting the "treat him right or else" talk.

It was little awkward, he had never been alone with Bad Bob before.

His eight year old self would have lost his shit.

His eighteen year old self was doing the same, if he was honest.

Kent twisted the cap open and brought the bottle to his lips.

He hadn't realized how parched he was, he gulps it down so fast that water starts dribbling down his face and sticks on his t-shirt.

"Good game today," Bad Bob said.

Kent almost choked on his water. He coughed.

"You were memorable," Bad Bob continued.

"You think so?"

Kent feels like a kid again, looking up at Bad freaking Bob, who is complimenting him. Kent hadn't ever heard Bad Bob even say something like that to Jack, though he must have.

Jack's talented.

Why wouldn't you compliment him?

"Yeah kid, I don't know much but I know hockey, you've got skill, the way you owned the ice today, you're real force," Bad Bob said.

"We still lost though," Kent said. Jack's words from earlier were ringing in his ear. Compliments were nice, but he didn't want people lying to him.

"Eh, Jack's focus was off, he was anticipating instead of adapting."

Kent doesn't know what to say to that.

"You're a winner, Kent."

Kent smiled wide and looked right at Bob.

It's another minute before either of them speak.

Kent shut the fridge, bottle in his hand and Bob made his way around the kitchen island, to Kent's side.

"You have a fever or something? You're sweating?" he asked.

Kent's breath hitched. Of course his body was giving him away, yet again.

Bob's hand is on Kent's forehead before he can make up an excuse. It reminded Kent of his mom, the way she used to check his temprature. It must be parental instinct or something, but then again the one time he told his dad he thought he was getting sick, his dad had said, 'be a man and deal with it'.

"You're a little warm, do you want something for that? Don't want you getting sick," he sounded concerned, in a way Kent liked.

"Uh, no, I'm uh-" Kent can't belive he's in this scenario.

How do you say to your boyfriend's dad that you're warm because you were making out with his son an hour ago and haven't cooled off yet?

"Thank you," Kent said. 

It would be one pill. He'd take it and forget the awakrdness of the moment.

Bad Bob walked out to get the medicine and Kent took another sip of water.

He came back a few moments later with a bottle.

He gave him a pill as he said, "Your family must be real proud."

Kent looked at him, his eyes were brown, looked so much like Jack's but they were warmer.

They were eyes you could trust.

"My dad always wanted me to go to college, cause he never went, you know?" Kent said.

Bob let out a short breath.

"Fathers, eh?"

"My old man thought I'd be in the army, just like him. He thought hockey was a waste of time."

"Huh, really? But you're Bad Bob."

"Well, wasn't Bad Bob back then was I, was just Robbie, the kid he wanted to get his shit together the most," Bad Bob smiled as he spoke and Kent couldn't help but watch the dimples appear on his cheeks.

"Robbie," Kent whispered to himself.

Bad Bob was so much of a legend, sometimes Kent forgot he was human.

Jack had yet to surpass his dad in height and Kent felt the entire weight of Bob's gaze on him. Kent was straining a little to make eye contact and somehow, that felt right.

"Did you always know you were going to make it?"

"Well like I said, I didn't know much but I knew I could play."

"I told my mom when I was four, that I would be in the NHL but I think every kid up and down the east coast did the same," Kent shrugged as he said it, almost throwing the words off of him.

"You're not every other kid though," Bob said, "There's a real possibility, you're going to go first in the draft."

Kent couldn't stop himself from letting out a little gasp.

There were talks, of course there were talks. But there was a difference between a rumour and Bad Bob saying it to his face.

He probably wanted Jack to go first.

"Jack," Kent started, unsure about what he'd say.

Bob cut him off before he got the chance.

"You deserve it, don't let anyone convince you different, even Jack, anyone would be lucky to have you."

Kent realized then, how close they stood to each other.

"That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me," Kent said.

He doesn't mean for the words to be loaded but his voice shook as he said it.

Next thing he knows, Bob's hand is on his arm, it's a comforting gesture.

It's perfectly acceptable.

But then Kent felt another hand on him.

He felt a gentle brush over his crotch.

Bob raised a brow, question clear on his face.

Kent is stunned into silence.

Kent should back off.

Bob would let him go.

But Bob's hand is so firm on his bicep, and the touch feels rough but gentle and he is in thick of the warmth raditing off of Bob.

He looked up again, right at Bob's eyes.

They're trustworthy.

He nodded.

Kent watched Bob's burly hands make their way to the elastic of his, not his, Jack's sweatpants and he has no time to unpack all of that, so he focuses on how good he feels when Bob's hands are finally on his dick.

Kent felt a firm grip and then a tug.

He let out a sharp breath.

Bob smiled at that.

He continued working his dick with his hand.

After a few tugs, Bob paused, and stared into Kent's eyes as he ran a finger, angonizingly slow down his shaft.

Kent bit the inside of his lip to prevent any noise from escaping.

The tugs got rougher then, Bob's eyes more intense.

"You deserve better, Kent, you deserve to go first," Bob said, "Back in my day, we used to have our pick of the litter when it came to puck bunnies, that's what you got if you were even half as good as you are, you deserve that don't you?"

Kent doesn't know what to say to that.

Kent doesn't know if he deserved most of what the Zimmermanns gave him. New skates, a better phone, flight tickets to visit his mom as often as he wanted, Jack.

Jack.

He couldn't think of Jack right now, anytime he tried, his mind would get lost in the sheer pleasure of the moment.

Kent would probably be expected to reciprocrate, but the only person he'd ever given a handjob to was Jack.

He didn't deserve Jack.

Bad Bob stopped.

His face darkened.

His voice was powerful, "Answer me."

"I deserve it," Kent's voice came out broken and weak, as if he was learning how to speak for the first time.

"Good boy," he said.

Kent didn't want to admit to the blush creeping up on his face.

He watched as Bad Bob made his way to his knees, pull down his swaetpants and then he felt a mouth and Kent bit his tounge again. 

Kent felt wrong, he respected Bob, so much, Bob was older than him, he shouldn't be on his knees for Kent. This was Bob fucking Zimmermann.

He doesn't have any time to fixate on that because Bob takes him in.

The pressure around his cock intensifies as Bob moves up it's length.

Kent let his hands find themselves in Bad Bob's hair.

The fact that he even is allowed to touch Bad Bob is unreal.

He's too blissed out to care.

Bob's licking him now and it takes everything in Kent not to come on the spot.

The blowjob is wet and sloppy and he loves every second of it.

Hockey isn't the only thing Bad Bob knew, Kent thought, but he was in too much of a daze to make a witty retort.

He just focused on breathing, because it was becoming increasingly difficult to do.

The water bottle was still on the counter next to him and he was parched yet again.

...

Jack stirred awake when Kent made his way back to the room.

"Water," Kent said.

Kent got into bed and Jack pounced on him. He must've gotten lonely alone.

"I'm sorry. C'me here," Jack planted a kiss on his cheek.

Kent wrapped an arm around him and pushed him down.

Kent spooned Jack and was glad Jack didn't try to kiss him on the lips.

His dad had kissed him after, a brush of harshness that was too dry, clinical almost.

And yet, he had kissed Bad Bob.

He wanted it to linger longer.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed, this was my first attempt at smut so let me know what you thought!


End file.
